By Thomas Perillo
Deshaun Watson donated to the lunch ladies who helped him. After Hurricane Harvey, he gave them each $9,000 for helping. What I think about Deshaun is that he is a nice, generous guy for giving them his whole paycheck. The cafeteria ladies reacted surprised, and thankful. I think I would do the same thing if I was Deshaun. This is what I think about Deshaun and what he did.
By Aaliyah Campos
One day I was home alone. I was in my room watching TV, when I heard a noise coming from the living room. I went tiptoeing, peaked in, a saw a person in a black hood, black gloves, and a black mask. I grabbed my phone and recorded what I saw. Then I called 9-1-1.
The 9-1-1 operator said to me, “Stay in one spot, like the closet or the bathroom.”
I answered in a whisper, “Okay.” I went into the bathroom, because there was only toothpaste, toothbrushes, and some hair products. Then I realized the police were still on the phone, so I added, “I’m in the bathroom.”
The voice said, “Okay — now where do you live?”
“By Taco Bell,” I answered.
“We’re on the way.”
I waited five minutes before they came. The criminal was stealing my TV and a few more items. But the police came and took the man. And I showed them the video I recorded as evidence.
By Jaysa Mellers
I think it was the guide’s fault. He gave us practically no information! My class was on a field trip in the savannah. We were hiking through the thick jungle when our guide, Mr. Herland (the laziest man on earth), stopped in the middle of a grove of mango trees. “Here we can see, um, mango trees,” he said in the blandest voice I’ve ever heard. “Mangoes happen to be one of the favorite fruits of monkeys.” Is that supposed to impress us? I thought.
My class looked bored to death, but I thought it was all beautiful. I snapped a few pictures with my black Nikon. When I had enough pictures I turned my attention back to Mr. Herland, who was still droning on. “If we wait a while, we may see a monkey.” And waited. And waited. Forget this, I thought. Maybe I can go for a walk around, not far . . .
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
By Ashley Calcaneo
I think that the idea of ice skating to school can be a little harsh. I think this because to ice skate, you would have to bring thick jackets. Also, in your book bag, you’ll have to bring your school books, extra shoes, and other necessary items. This can make it hard to just ice skate comfortably.
What I just saw [on video] was a man talking about how he enjoys ice skating. He ice skates in the morning and sometimes at midnight. He checks the ice to see if it is thick enough. The man also talked about how he has fallen through the ice. He talks about how he has practiced. He once fell while talking to friends. They talked so much that many of them didn’t realize where they were going, so they fell.
I would like to ice skate every day just to practice and have fun, but not for a living. My muscles would ache and I would get too tired. I would have to ice skate while going to school, home, and other places. I don’t want to have to go to a store and change my skates to shoes, then shoes to skates.
By Jaysa Mellers
On a cool April morning, I was cycling down the street when I saw a silver Toyota racing along. Suddenly it swerved and nearly ran me over! Fortunately I got out of the way just in time.
The Toyota sped on as if nothing had happened. I scowled at it as it turned the corner and disappeared. How can someone be so reckless?!, I thought. But wait — I saw something out on the street where the driver had swerved. Did he drop it? Or was it already there? I decided to check it out.
Upon closer inspection it was revealed to be a German Shepherd. I gasped. My scowl deepened. What a coward!, I thought, disgusted. Then I saw the dog’s left front leg move the slightest bit. A little ray of hope for the dog shown through my anger at the driver, but it was short-lived as the hope was replaced with panic. How am I going to move him out of harm’s way? I thought, and even if I manage to somehow move him, what will I do from there?
Even though there was no visual proof of the dog’s injuries, I could tell it was badly hurt. It breathed in short, ragged breaths and it wouldn’t get up.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
By Edith Silano
I was on my way to an old church with my mom. The church was in London, where I lived. The church had been changed into a museum because it was from the 1800s — really old. On our way my mom said very loudly, “Do not touch anything!”
We finally got there and I wanted to explore the big place. I walked around till I came across a small door with a sign reading: DO NOT ENTER. So, knowing me, I went in. As I entered the tight room, the door shut behind me. I tried to open it, but it was no use. I knew, since I was in a church, this must be a priest hole. It had a horrendous smell of damp wood and rotten food. It was so dark that I could see nothing, not even a bit of light from underneath the door. The space was so tight I couldn’t imagine more than one person fitting in there.
Hours passed . . . well, at least it felt that way to me. I couldn’t find a way out. I started to think I would be in there forever, with all those horrendous smells. It started to feel like the walls were closing in on me. I dreaded every moment. I knew I would get out, but who knows when? I knew before I came in that it was a bad idea, and I vowed that when I get out, I will never again go in anything this small and tight. I felt so claustrophobic, and I wished more than anything that I’d never gone in in the first place. God help me, I need to get out soon before I pass out from all the smells!
At last I heard a person coming to save me. A man with white hair came in and said, “Did you not see the sign?” I lied and said no, and thanked the man and ran off. Thank God I was free from that tight small hole with smells I never want to smell again!
I found my mom and told her what had happened. She said, “See! What did I tell you?”
I said, “I know, Mom. Sorry.”
She was very mad, but happy I was safe. With that, we went home. I’ll NEVER go into small spaces again.
By Aaliyah Campos
Donald Trump is President of the U.S.A. This is how I describe Trump: rude, obtuse, really rich, racist, hates Mexicans, and wants to build a wall between Mexico and the U.S.A. so he can “Make America Great Again.” Yeah, right, he made it worse.
Donald was born on June 14, 1946. He is now 70 years old and he has orange skin. He is also a businessman. He makes billions of dollars. He has fake hair, and I hate his disturbing voice. He fought in the Presidential debate with Hillary Clinton. That’s what I think about Donald J. Trump.
If you voted for him, sorry, but it’s my opinion.
By Ashley Calcaneo
The photo of Girl with a Pearl Earring is of a girl who doesn’t look happy and who seems to be rich. In the photo, she is wearing a blue wrap on her head with a bun, she doesn’t have eyebrows, has an oval head, and is dressed kind of like a businesswoman. Her age seems to be in the twenties.
I also think that the photo was taken in the 1880s with a high quality-ish camera. That’s why I think she is rich, because maybe in the old days, cameras might have cost more. That is what I think about the photo of Girl with a Pearl Earring.
By Jaysa Mellers
“Hello again,” the girl said
I just stood there, saying nothing.
She took a step back and then looked me up and down, as if sizing me up. The girl was wearing a black cloak. (I know what you’re thinking, mysterious girl in a black cloak? Total cliche.) She had the hood pulled up so I couldn’t see her face. She sighed and kind of twirled around. We were on some type of platform, maybe it was a roof. Whatever it was, it looked like a long way down.
This happened before, when I was about six or seven, only the girl was my size back then, too.
Why is this happening now? I wondered, as the girl continued talking.
“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I say. I kind of surprise myself by talking. We used to have conversations like this when I was younger. I thought talking to a stranger was okay, but now that I’m older, it’s just weird.
She seems to get excited by the fact that I’m talking to her, because she starts swaying from side to side. Either that, or she really has to use the bathroom.
“So how’s life been?” she presses on . . .
[EDITOR’S NOTE: THIS IS AN EXCERPT FROM A MUCH LONGER WORK-IN-PROGRESS BY JAYSA]
By Edith Silano
He’s small and loves to play all day. He hates going to bed at night. He loves to dance to any music or song he hears. He loves to laugh and look out windows. He makes you laugh just by looking at him. Makes funny faces when he’s happy or sad. Hates taking baths that are warm, but loves to play with the water. Loves to run around the house and laugh. Loves to eat cake and candy canes. Loves to make a big mess that my mom has to clean. Loves to get spun around till he’s going to pass out. Loves to pull people’s hair and then run away. Loves to watch TV before he takes a nap. Loves to run around in every store we go to. Loves to drink lots of juice and water. When he gets mad he starts to scream and cry. When he sleeps, he looks like an angel.
Who is this crazy little boy? My brother, who I love.
HANK THE TANK AND THE LEGEND-MAKERS 